


Foolish behavior

by Anonymous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bisexual Harry Potter, Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Fifth Year, Harry has zero self control, Humor, Jealous Voldemort, Mad game, Multi, NOT a slowburn, Possessive Voldemort, Quote: I Solemnly Swear That I Am Up To No Good (Harry Potter), The Weasley brother’s got game, dumb energy Harry, harry is in denial, i’m just at a loss for words, like they practically invented the laws of attraction (or so they claim🙄), we don’t do slow burns around here!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:42:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 17,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26044420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “This is a hypothetical question, but say you were seeing somebody but not really seeing them. Like your together but not, you feel me?”Hermione blinks slowly... wither out of shock or disbelief belief Harry wasn’t too sure.Ron nods, making an affirmative noise. “You mean a fuck buddy.”_______
Relationships: Cho Chang/ Harry Potter (briefly), Harry Potter/Voldemort, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Lavender Brown/Ron Weasley, probably will grow as the story continues
Comments: 223
Kudos: 524
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

Harry is an idiot, a complete and utter fool. He stood almost completely bare in front of the bathroom mirror, his emerald eyes glance at the ugly red bruises that littered across his neck.  
  


How was he supposed to hide this?

The blistering red marks are a stark contrast against his creamy pale skin.

What would Ron and Hermione even think if they knew?

If they had the slightest idea of just _who_ he was sleeping with, _who_ was giving Harry these love bits.

What would they do? What would they say? Would they hate him, _like how_ he hates himself right now?

Guilt coils in his stomach as Harry’s fingers ghosts over the love bits, remembering just how he acquired them in the first place.

They certainly weren’t given to him out of love. If there was one thing Harry knew for sure was that He didn’t love anyone or anything, and most certainly didn’t love Harry in the slightest. At all.

He reminds himself whenever they linger in bed, not exactly cuddling (Harry refuses to call it cuddling!), but unwilling to let go.

Voldemort didn’t love Harry. He didn’t, he couldn’t. It just wasn’t possible.

It was just this— Harry doesn’t know exactly what this is, or how exactly it started. All Harry knows is that the summer after the fourth year he had a run-in with the man at his local Starbucks (a little too close to home for comfort.)

It started with a battle of wills, quick retorts, and witty remarks. It started with Voldemort wearing Tom Riddle’s face, barely containing himself form throwing a nasty hex at Harry in a very populated Muggle establishment. And somehow throughout all of these negative factors, ended with them in a bathroom stall with Voldemort’s hands feeling along the frame of his hips, it ended with Harry’s mind coated in a thick heavy fog, dizzy, and breathless as he stands on his tiptoes to steal just one more kiss.

Harry’s face heats up as he remembers that day, feeling like a rash idiot. Because he was a rash idiot.

And to make matters worse that wasn’t the last time it happened, it was the first of _many_.

_Many_.

_Too many._

_It’s actually a really bad habit now._

He could laugh at the ridiculousness of this, the-boy-who-lived and the dark lord. Together. It sounds like the start of a really bad joke.

Fitting seeing as Harry _is_ a joke. His life is a joke. His mental state is a complete joke. He’s basically Bow Bow the clown.

Merlin, why his he like this?

Load snoring brought Harry out of his musing, reminding Harry just how much of a clown he really is.

Because Harry, like the dumb ass that he is. Snuck out of Grimmauld place (headquarters of The Order Of The Phoenix mind you) too met the man they are trying so hard to protect him form.

Harry is a fool.

And because of that foolishness, he’s stuck in the bathroom on September 1st, try to figure out how to cover these blasted marks before Ron wakes up and starts questioning how he managed to get hickeys out of nowhere!

Sometimes Harry really wants to strangle Voldemort.

And as Harry creeps down the hall to swipe some of Ginny’s makeup, he swears to himself that this will never happen again. That he will never ever sleep with Voldemort again.

_He can’t keep doing this._

*

Harry uncomfortably shifts in the stiff seats on the Hogwarts express. Trying (for the past 3 hours) to say what he really wants to say.

He thought it over last night, thought of ever possibly outcome, plan exactly what to say, and had a pretty good idea on what they’d say in return. But that didn’t make this any easier, in fact, it just left him overly prepared and feeling like a coward.

“Hey,” Harry starts unsurely, throwing caution out the window like a true Gryffindor. Hermione looks up from the book she was reading for the past thirty minutes, so ready to give him her full attention. There was a concern twinkle in her brown eyes and Harry wonders if Hermione noticed anything off about him. Anything strange.

Ron also jumps to attention, not as worry as Hermione or all-knowing but he completely abandoned his chocolate frog, waiting patiently for Harry to continue. That’s what Harry loves the most about Ron, he waits for Harry, he doesn’t dig or try to force it out of him like Hermione. Ron simply waits for Harry to talk, giving Harry time and space to collect himself.

“This is a hypothetical question, but say you were seeing somebody but not really seeing them. Like your together but not, you feel me?”

Hermione blinks slowly... wither out of shock or disbelief belief Harry wasn’t too sure.

Ron nods, making an affirmative noise. “You mean a fuck buddy.”

“Ronald!” Hermione shouts with a light dusting across her cheek. She backhands Ron’s arm, making the taller boy groan in pain.

“What, I have older brothers! I hear things!” The redhead says as he rubs his newly abused arm.

“Right...” Harry says evenly. “I wouldn’t necessarily label it as— you know what, sure let’s call it that.”

Harry leans back in his chair, trying to appear casual. “Say you were going at it for a while, like... I don’t know, the whole summer.”

Hermione eyes him suspiciously, probably trying to figure out how this was relevant.

“And because of who that person is you think it’s best to cut it off, especially now that school is starting.”

“Because of who this person is?” Hermione repeats. Yep, that’s definitely disbelief in her voice. “Are you trying to tell us you’ve been sleeping with Draco Malfoy?”

Harry does a double-take completely bewildered. “Ew, no.”

Ron snorts inelegantly. “Please, Harry is more likely to sleep with you-know-who then with that prestigious git.”

Harry felt his jaw drop, unable to pick it up off the floor.

“Besides, what makes you think it’s a he?” Ron asks while taking a large bite of his chocolate frog.

“He obviously had a crush on Cedric last year,” Hermione says dismissively.

Harry felt like a deer in headlights.

“I thought he liked Cho?”

“He liked both, you can have a crush on multiple people at one time Ron.” Harry's cheeks flush a violent red, he probably resembled a tomato right about now.

The-boy-who-lived clears his throat, trying to stir the conversation back on track. “Anyway, how would you go about ending this.”

Ron leans forward, rubbing his hands together, looking oddly excited. Like he’s been waiting his whole life to give Harry this kind of advice.

“So let me get this straight, you were (seeing, but not really seeing) someone all summer, but now you want to end it.”

Harry nods, feeling heavy waves of shame. The fact he started sleeping with the man was disgraceful, but the fact that he found himself liking waking up in Voldemort’s arms is practically a crime against humanity. That. Needs. To. End.

“Easy,” Ron says, Hermione nods actually agreeing with the redhead.

“He’s right, just tell them it’s not working out.”

“Umm... No—no.” Ron cuts in, looking at Hermione like she’s grown two heads. “They aren’t actually together, he doesn’t owe them that type of courtesy, he doesn’t owe them anything. In fact, breaking up with them will probably make the situation even more awkward.”

“What do you suggest then? Flat out ignore them.” Hermione retorts, utterly scandalized.

“Yeah, I knew it seems harsh but that’s just how it’s done.”

“Says who!”

“Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, George— should I continue?” Ron says, listing them one by one on his fingers.

“Percy?” Harry asks mildly impressed.

“Oh, yeah. You wouldn’t believe what he’d do on his perfect rounds.”Ron says offhandedly.

Hermione huffs, skin impossibly red. “That’s beside the point.”

“Okay, but what if he wants to meet up again?” Harry asks, feeling oddly exposed.

Ron shrugs. “Just say your busy.”

“Every time?”

“Duh, he’ll figure it out eventually.”

Hermione shakes her head, probably tried of their idiocy. “You won’t be put in that type of situation if you just tell him how you feel.”

Tell Voldemort how he feels? Him? Harry Potter? Yeah, right. That sounds like a disaster waiting to happen.

.

.

.

So Ron’s plan it is then.

“What if I can’t say no?” Harry asks awkwardly.

The taller boy raises an inquisitive eyebrow but doesn’t say anything.

“Like what if I get caught up in the moment again.” Harry finishes lamely, feeling like a helpless hormonal dummy. Why can’t he just say no? Why does he throw common sense out the window whenever Voldemort was around?

A feeling, a memory flashes before Harry's eyes. Of the man spreading Harry’s legs apart, the feeling of Voldemort’s soft lips as they travel up Harry’s smooth thigh.

And all at once, he wants to bang his head against the window, anything to get these thoughts out of his head.

Ron and Hermione share a knowing look, talking without even saying anything.

“You like him,” Hermione states in a soft voice. “That’s why you want to end things.”

Ron strokes his nonexistent beard. “That’s understandable, the whole point of friends with benefits is having no strings attached.”

Harry made a high pitch choking nose in the back of his throat. No, that’s— that is not what’s happening here. He refuses to even consider the possibility.

Hermione kicks Ron in his shin, probably for his complete lack of tact.

“Harry, listen to me very carefully.” Ron says seriously, captivating both Harry and Hermione’s attention “you need to start fucking other people.”

Hermione gaped like a fish, mouth opening, and closing every so often. Harry’s sure his reaction isn’t much better.

“What good would that do? He can’t give his heart away if someone else has it.” Hermione makes it sound so... so serious, it isn’t like that. It’s not like that at all!

“So? You're not supposed to give your heart to a rebound anyway.”

“A rebound, let me guess another Percy Wesley motto?” Hermione says with an eye roll.

“Nope,” Ron pops the p smugly. “Learned that one from OG Bill himself.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair, mind whirling like a storm. There are so many other things he should be worried about. Like how the ministry is invading Hogwarts, the new Defense teacher, or dementors roaming Little Whining (something Voldemort insists that he had nothing to do with.)

He should be worried about the war that’s probably going to break out soon.

Instead, he’s here, fretting about his sex life and his questionable taste in men. If he’s attracted to psychopathic males maybe he should stick to girls, at least then he wouldn’t have to worry about them stabbing him in his sleep.

Not like he actually had any trouble falling asleep around Voldemort, actually he probably had his best rest around the monster.

What the fuck was wrong with him?


	2. Chapter 2

Harry took one long look at Dolores Umbridge and just knew he didn’t like her. She acted too sweet, to humble to ever be genuine.

Then he had his first class with her, now his dislike was borderline hatred. The feeling is clearly mutual, Umbridge dislikes Harry more then Snape does. The boy cringes at the thought.

Someone hating Harry more than Snape? That’s not something Harry ever thought was possible, yet here we are. Everyone in Hogwarts was talking about this supposed (fight) that happened between them, adding their own exaggerated spin on the tail.

_“I heard Umbridge and Potter dueled in the middle of the classroom!”_

_“Yeah, Potter lost thirty house points and his spot on the quidditch team.”_

_“Didn’t Umbridge’s cat die?”_

Harry thought last year was bad, but this is ridiculous. Why can’t he ever catch a break?

Harry swiftly walks down the hallway with Ron and Hermione hot on his heels, he can feel their worried eyes glance over at him every so often.

“Harry!” Colin Creevey shouts loudly as the younger boy all but bounces over to the trio. “Is it true you killed Umbridge’s cat?”

Harry’s smile strains, wondering how all of this got so out of hand. He can see a string of students by the Library door stopped what they were doing, just to bluntly listen in on the conversation.

Harry sighs. “I didn’t kill anyone’s cat.” He announced loud enough for the entire hall to hear. “There was no grand dramatic duel or expelling of any kind. I just got sassy with the Umbridge and now I have detention. Nothing out of the ordinary!”

There were a few disappointed mumbles as everyone went on with their day, hopefully, that settled that matter.

Ron snorts “Not even a week in and you already have detention, that blows mate.”

Harry runs a hand through his wild black hair, exhausted beyond belief. Umbridge’s is like a dementor, she literally sucks the life out of people. “Tell me about it.”

“She can’t stay,” Hermione announce. “Magic is more than just theory, how does she expect us to learn? Or defend ourselves when we can’t practice magic.”

That’s the point.

None of them bothered to voice it but they all knew it, she was trying to make a spectacle out of Harry. She wants to turn all of his friends against him and Dumbledore, she wants to put them in a bad light.

A part of Harry wonders of Voldemort sent her if he was using Umbridge to make his life a living hell. The thought makes his stomach queasy for an entirely different reason than last year.

_‘Your being stupid.’_ Harry tells himself.

Of course, Voldemort is still trying to ruin your life. This fling doesn’t change anything, at the end of the day he’s still the dark lord and Harry the-boy-who-lived.

Harry knows this, and yet... why does it hurt so much? Like someone was squeezing his lungs, his heart with every ounce of strength they had.

Harry takes a deep breath, closing his eyes just to give himself a moment of peace.

And then for a split second, he was surrounded by silk sheets, a weight of another’s body on top of his, grounding him, soft sleepy breaths ticking down Harry’s neck.

It’s a feeling/a memory the teen is familiar with.

It’s was the first time Voldemort wanted him to _stay_ , he never said it verbally, too prideful to ever admit it. But Harry remembers how his arms tightened around his waist, drawing him closer (impossibly close) when Harry tried to leave.

Harry vigorously shakes his head, like if he just shakes hard enough these thoughts would go flying out of his head.

He feels like one of those teen girls in that chick-flick his Aunt likes to watch when his Uncle and cousin aren’t home. What was that movie called again? _Clueless_?

Harry certainly felt clueless.

_Merlin, maybe I should start seeing other people..._

*

Harry lays in bed later that night, studying his soon-to-be new scar.

_I must not tell lies._

If Umbridge really did come from Voldemort, this was a new low.

Even after considering everything the man has done to him, this seemed abnormally cruel. Or maybe...

Maybe Harry just thought things were different now, even though the-boy-who-lived kept reminding himself Voldemort could never change... maybe, maybe a small teeny-tiny part of him hoped otherwise.

Or at least hoped he’d make an exception for him.

Harry huffs, wrapping himself in a safe cocoon made out of Hogwarts finest blankets. He convinces himself that the tears that are threatening to spill out of his eyes are from having to carve ( _I must not tell lies)_ in his hand repeatedly.

It’s because his hand hurts like a bitch.

Him silently crying has nothing to do with this heavy feeling in his chest or Voldemort in the slightest!

Disappointment is something Harry is used to, this isn’t any different.

*

Harry stares at the blank parchment in front of him, willing words it just magically appear. He thought over a million different things he could say, but nothing sounds right.

“Ron. Hermione.” Harry calls out to his best friends, they were sitting across from him in the Gryffindor common room quietly doing their homework.

Hermione was finishing off her last essay and Ron barely started his first. Just watching them do such obvious Ron and Hermione things fills him with so much love, he’s so grateful to have them as his friends.

“I’m writing a letter to Katie Bell, you know... asking her on a date...” Harry says awkwardly. “How should I write it (let’s get dinner) or (do you want to get dinner)?”

Ron only thinks for a moment before answering. “Go with (let’s get dinner) so your like, assertive, and confident.”

Harry thought about it, that’s sounds about right. Girls like confidence... It’s what Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon always told Dudley. There must be some truth to it for Uncle Vernon to land Aunt Petunia. The woman might not be winning beauty pageants anytime soon, but surely she could have done better than that.

“Actually, no,” Hermione says, giving Ron a pointed look. “You sound a little aggressive, you don’t want to be the type of guy that goes (let’s get dinner) like your some sort of caveman. You're supposed to ask her for dinner, not tell her to get dinner.”

Harry thinks it over again, maybe it was a little too demanding... he doesn’t want to force her to go out with him.

“Just say (do you want to get dinner?)”

Harry nods in agreement, lifting his quill to start writing.

“Actually Wait,” Ron says, stopping Harry in his tracks. “Now you kinda sound like a pussy.”

Harry huffs in frustration. “This is hard!”

“The last thing Harry wants to be is that overly masculine type,” Hermione says, provoking Harry’s eyebrows to connect to his hairline in confusion.

Harry is 5’6 maybe 5’7 depending on the type of shoes he’s wearing, in his humble opinion, there’s nothing masculine about him...

“Like, I’m the breadwinner. let’s get dinner bitch!” Hermione says in the deepest voice she can.

“But women love assertiveness,” Ron adds.

“Ron, what do you know about women? You’ve neverhad a girlfriend before!” Hermione says with an eye-roll.

“I told you, it comes naturally to us Weasley men!”

“Just say (dinner is something I’d enjoy taking you on if you were also interested in attending the meal).”

Harry looks at Hermione, thinking over her words. It’s a little bit of a tongue twister but it was considerate...

“No, wait! Say (I’d like nothing more than to take you out to the finest restaurant in town, milady.)”

Was... was that supposed to be some form of pureblood courtship offer?

“I think we need a third opinion...” Harry says dryly.

Ron nods in agreement. “Fred! George!”

Almost immediately the twins appeared, their blazing red hair was tasseled, and both wear a mischievous grin on their face.

In short, they clearly were up to no good.

“Harry needs dating advice, he wants to ask this girl out but doesn’t know how to word it.”

“How to word it?” Fred repeated, looking at Harry like he was stupid. “It’s not’s magical theory Harry— “you just got to look at her-“and say—“You—“Me—“Dinner—“ 7 o’clock—“Take it or leave it.” The twins says in that perfectly harmonized twin sync style they always do.

Harry was baffled, he glances at his friends for guidance. Hermione was no help she sat there stone-faced while Ron whispers to Harry “See assertiveness.”

It becomes abundantly clear that he probably won’t be getting a date any time soon...


	3. Chapter 3

"You want me to teach them?" Harry whisper under his breath, completely baffled.

Hermione does some of her most brilliant thinking at night when it's just her alone with her thoughts, Hermione gains a new level of understanding that Harry and Ron couldn't even begin to comprehend.

But this...

This was madding.

"I can't!"

Hermione had that stubborn look in her eyes again, that look she gets when she completely makes up her mind and there's no changing it.

"You can," she insists. "We need someone with experience, we need you."

"Or, and hear me out, we find someone more qualified. Someone who doesn't rely on dumb luck." Honestly, sometimes Harry wishes Remus Lupin or that guy who pretended to be Mad-Eye Moody was still his teacher.

"At this point, your way more qualified than that pink toad," Ron says, holding the door open for them as they walked into the great hall.

"Wow, thanks mate."

Hermione sent him a pleading look. "Just think about it..."

This discussion was far from over but they dropped it as they sat down in their usual seats. Trying to appear as angelic and innocent as physically possible. Umbridge finds any excuse to get him and anyone who's with Harry in trouble.

Can you imagine, Hermione Granger in _detention_? It's happened now, because of Harry. Everything is because if Harry...

Harry sighs as he fills his plate up with things the teen probably won't end up eating.

Maybe he should start tutoring if all hell is going to break loss people need to know how it defends themselves.

But who would want to be tutored by him? Everyone thinks he delusional.

A liar.

“He’s doing it again,” Ron says under his breath while nudging Harry with his elbow.

The-boy-who-lived looks over at the Slytherin table, his eyes briefly meeting Malfoy’s before the blond git vigorously looks away. “What’s his problem?”

Draco has been oddly distant so far this year. The blond hasn’t taunt, teased, or even tried to get Harry in trouble since the start of term.

Oh, he practically harassed Ron and Hermione. But whenever Harry cuts in the Malfoy heir gets milk-white and his face twists like he swallowed a lemon.

It’s _odd_.

It’s _peculiar_.

The way he’s always watching Harry, following him like a shadow. But refuses to talk to him, besides a few curt answers.

“I reckon,” Ron starts, drawling Harry and Hermione’s attention back to him. “That Malfoy either developed some form of stalkery type crush on Harry—”

Ew, Harry couldn’t help but cringe at the thought.

“Or he’s spying on you for you-know-who...”

Harry froze while his heart stopped working altogether, before rebooting with high-speed. His cheeks and neck heat up so much so Hermione sent him a curious look.

Voldemort is spying on _him_...

Well technically he wasn’t spying on him, the man was having other people do that for him... BUT STILL!

Has Harry done anything weird lately?

He can already picture Voldemort with his stupidly charming smile and his dark depthless eyes that catch rings of light or glints red whenever Harry leaves him tongue-tied _again_.

Because there was always an _again_ , that was Harry’s favorite pass time. Riling him up, leaving Voldemort, the Dark Lord himself, speechless.

He’d try to say something smart like _“Just when I think you no longer mystify me.”_ Or _“Your foolishness astonishes me.”_ In that overly complicated speech, he does whenever Harry backs him in a corner. like he could intimidate Harry with his vast vocabulary.

Harry quickly stabs his hand with the fork he was using, startling both Ron and Hermione.

“Bloody hell mate!”

“Harry are you alright?”

No, no he was not alright. Harry’s eyes sting from unleashed tears. The pain achingly resembling the blood quill. The blood quill incident that Voldemort might have orchestrated behind the scene!

The pain hurts.

Obviously.

But it got his mind off of him. _So there’s that..._

“Just dandy,” Harry says with a forced grin.

Harry looks over at Malfoy as Hermione heals his hand. The blond’s mouth is opened and he’s rapidly blinking, rightly stupefied.

Harry wonders if Malfoy going to tell Voldemort about this, how that conversation would even go...

.

.

.

*

The next day something _unusual_ happens.

Owl after owl flys in carrying the daily post, goodies form home, and letters from loved ones.

That’s normal.

An ordinary brown owl comes flying to Harry. Delivering a letter to Harry.

A little rarer, but not unheard of. He gets an occasional letter from Sirius and Remus, every once in a while he even gets fan mail.

But _this_ letter is the letter he was hoping and dreading to receive.

A part of him didn’t think he’d hear from Voldemort now that school started. A part of him was disappointed because he wants to see, too talk to the man again.

But the more dominated part of him, the part of him that has common sense, thought that Harry is being a complete idiot.

_This is a good thing!_

He’d tell himself over and over again. (It’s only going to hurt more in the long run if they keep doing this.)

The owl gracefully drops the letter in front of him, not even waiting for a treat or any kind of payment.

And Harry...

Harry did the most embarrassing thing right in front of the Hogwarts staff and all its students.

He squeaks.

A high-pitch, giddy, squeak.

Harry took one look at Tom Riddle’s perfect calligraphy and felt such bubbly happiness he SQUEAKS! Before he can even stop himself.

He awkwardly clears his throat as Ron and Hermione look at him like he was an oddity. “Puberty...” he offers lamely.

“Who’s the letter from?” Hermione asks forcefully casual.

“Katie Bell.”

Ron’s eyes looks lit up,practically vibrating in his seat. “Really! What did she say?”

He leans closer to Harry, probably wanting to read the letter over his shoulder. But the green-eyed teen quickly shoved the letter in his pocket, much to Ron’s disappointment.

His friend fancies himself a love guru.

“I-umm want to read it in private...” Honestly, Harry isn’t sure he wants to read the letter at all.

No, Harry wants to read the letter but he shouldn’t... so he won’t. He promised himself he wouldn’t do this anymore, this _thing_ \- is a heartbreak waiting to happen.

I mean, that’s if he _liked_ Voldemort in any way. Harry doesn’t. At all. In anyway.

The only things Voldemort cherishes is power and his snake. Not Harry.

Harry would have to be an outright buffoon to like the man.

And Harry is not a buffoon. So he doesn’t have feelings for the man and he certainly isn’t going the read that damned letter.

So Harry continues on with his day, with that letter and Voldemort living rent-free in his mind. The blasted parchment felt heavy in his pocket, the essence of Voldemort’s magic lingering on the paper. Distracting Harry.

Harry is a buffoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Draco uncomfortably shifts on his feet, if his mother seen him do this she’d scold him for forgetting his etiquette.
> 
> Malfoy’s don’t squirm!
> 
> It’s the motto his family lives by, but it’s so hard to follow when the darkest lord of the century is staring down at you in obvious contempt.
> 
> He sat in his throne-like chair behind the desk, his chin resting onto his hand.
> 
> Lord Voldemort was apathetic mostly, charming when it’s beneficial, and hostile when displeased.
> 
> But there was something about Harry Potter that brought out other emotions in the man, it’s bazaar, and oddly fascinating. 
> 
> That must be the reason why Draco abruptly blurts out “Potter stabbed himself with a fork this morning.”
> 
> It was worth it seeing the normally poised Dark lord look so utterly Mystify.
> 
> The look on his face screamed (I can and can’t believe this.)
> 
> “Malfoy.”
> 
> Draco swallows thickly. “Yes, my lord...”
> 
> “Repeat that for me.”
> 
> “Harry Potter stabbed himself with a fork this morning.”
> 
> The dark lord pinched the bridge of his nose, mumbling something underneath his breath that Draco couldn’t quite hear.


	4. Chapter 4

_Harry felt Voldemort before he saw him._

_At first, Harry just thought he was imagining that prickly feeling running down the back of his neck, he thought he was being delusional. Paranoid._

_The radio silence finally driving him off the deep end._

_It was crazy._

_Why would Voldemort be at Starbucks?_

_So he ignored it. Using the money he managed to save form nicking spare coins Harry boldly approach’s the cashier, ordering the pink drink because it’s refreshing and it slaps._

_No Dudley, Harry doesn’t care in the slightest that the drink is pink! Thank you very much._

_Harry was completely aware of the eyes following his every move,felt his skin hum, and scare pulse in the way it does whenever Voldemort was close._

_Deep down apart of him knew, yet for some reason chose to ignore it. Like if Harry just pretends Voldemort wasn’t there the monster would get bored and simply go away._

_He didn’t._

_The closer Voldemort got the more acutely aware Harry became._

_This is real._

_Voldemort is really here, in Starbucks._

_Dawning horror blossoms in Harry's chest as Voldemort comes up behind him, uncomfortably close. His hands rested on the countertop, on each side of Harry, locking him in._

_Voldemort’s nose (since when did he have a nose?) gently tickling the teen’s ear. “Hello, Harry.” He said softly, and Harry, well, his mind stop working for a moment._

_That was not the high hissy voice from the graveyard. No, this voice is smooth, honeyed, yet reminding Harry of a bonfire._

_This was Tom Riddle’s voice..._

_Harry felt a wand dig into his lower back, pushing, twisting, no doubt leaving the sensitive skin beneath bruised and irritated._

_He needs to calm down._

_He needs to gather his bearings, Harry has no doubt if they started dueling right here and now he’d lose._

_He doesn’t have a wand._

_He can’t use magic even if he had a wand._

_There are too many witnesses, casualties would take place if they start fighting here._

_And for a moment Harry saw a flash of green, Cedric’s body falling limp on the muddy ground. His heart beats wildly in his chest, attempting to break free form its prison._

_Ribs are a cage of a wild heart._

_He needs to calm down!_

_So Harry takes a deep breath summoning all of his courage before turning to face the devastatingly handsome dark lord. Not the dark lord that crawled out of a cauldron, a body made from his father's bones, wormtail’s hand, and Harry’s blood._

_No, his original body, the body that would make even the most prudish woman and the straightest men long-for._

_And Harry..._

_Harry smiles the most brilliant, beaming, darling smile at the monster-man. A smile so lovely it makes atheists cry joy to the lord and virgins quiver._

_“Tom!” Harry yelps in mock glee. The teen actually **hugs** Voldemort like their old friends. “What are you doing here? I never took you for a Starbucks person...”_

_Voldemort didn’t hesitate to play along, he wraps his arms around Harry, squeezing him tightly in a subtle threatening gesture._

_“It’s an acquired taste.-” (Translation: I don’t drink this muggle garbage, Potter.) “But I happened to notice you walk in and I had to stop by to say hi.”_

_Harry giggles in an obnoxiously fake cute manner. “Well, you said hi. You can go now.” It probably wasn’t the wisest thing to say, but Harry isn’t a Ravenclaw for a reason._

_Tom chuckles deeply, it’s smoky, and warm like he was laughing at a funny joke._

_Why does everything about Tom Riddle drips with sex appeal? It wasn’t fair._

_The only sign of annoyance is the tell-all twitch of pain that radiate’s through his scare. Besides that, the link between them was fairly pleasant. You know.. all things considered._

_A slow, sinful grin curls on Voldemort’s lips. It was mean and unnaturally hot.“And miss this precious chance to spend time with my darling.”_

_Harry could have chocked on his pink drink, he could have tumbled to the ground as he wheezed and coughed while his specialty drink went down the wrong pipe._

_He didn’t._

_But he could of..._

_Instead, Harry stood there, strain smile, cheeks coloring. “I’m sure a man of your status has much more important things to do then think of me all day,” Harry says, he watches as Voldemort gracefully twirls his wand between his fingers._

_“Your a vain little thing,” Voldemort said, the pain in his scar intensifies for a mere moment before vanishing completely. “Your hardly a thought in my mind throughout the day.”_

_Somehow Harry doubt’s that._

_“Of course, you must save all your best thoughts of me for the nighttime.” And if that wasn’t bad enough Harry just had to continue with. “When you all alone and able to get lost in your own imagination.”_

_Like, why? Harry wishes he never learned how to speak at all!_

_Voldemort leans closer, his long elegant fingers grab Harry’s chin, keep him in place when all Harry wants to do is look away._

_“Potter, you couldn’t even being to imagine what I picture doing to you.”_

_He was talking about torture._

_Obviously._

_Yet Harry’s heart still betrayed him, it began doing acrobatic movements, trying to break out of his chest._

_Then they just stood there for a few minutes, fake smiling at each other, waiting to see who’ll break first._

_Of course, it was Harry. The longer he looked at Voldemort’s face the more his body seemed to sing beneath his skin. He remembers the chamber of Secrets, Ginny laying on the cold stone floor, practically died. He remembers the giant snake, Hagrid being sent away, and somehow throughout all of this the first thought Harry had when Tom Riddle appeared was._

_Wow._

_Because Harry hasn’t ever seen someone so artfully handsome before, form Voldemort’s strong jawline to his sharp nose, high cheekbones, perfect chocolate curls._

_There has never been someone so sculpted, so aristocratic, someone so blessed with such good looks he could be related to Aphrodite herself._

_The first time Harry saw Tom Riddle his first thought was- Wow._

_And now, here in the middle of Starbucks, after knowing everything about the man, and experiencing the true monster that he is himself._

_The first thought Harry had when he saw Tom’s face and not the snake face from the graveyard was still- Wow._

_Voldemort is a fallen angel, beautiful, deadly, he has the ability to leave everyone in the room breathless._

_Harry nibbled on his lower lip, hard enough to draw blood. Voldemort’s eyes follow the movement, flickering down to Harry's slightly swollen lips, his dark eyes linger there a moment too long._

*

Harry lays in bed, looking at the letter with such intensity it might even catch on fire.

“It wouldn’t hurt just to read it...” Harry tells himself, without even one ounce of self-control.

He didn’t have to write back.

He’s not going to write back.

Harry just wants to know what it says!

And so, after waiting all day, torturing himself, telling himself he wasn’t going to read the stupid letter. He ends up reading the letter.

He quickly reads through it, a nervous excited feeling roiling in his stomach.

How long has it been?

Harry met him the night before leaving, but that feels like so long ago now.

Not that Harry misses the man. No of course not, missing someone implies holding a sort of fondness for that person. It implies that he actually likes Voldemort. Which he doesn’t, Harry simply enjoys the man’s company that’s all!

Yet, that giddy feeling is back and his heart is fluttering. Like butterfly’s life where his heart should be.

By the end of the letter Harry fiercely blushed, he screams in his pillow, load, and squeaky. Like one might do if their celebrity crush likes their photo on Instagram.

“Harry...” Ron asks slowly form his bed, sounding awfully concerned. “Are you alright in there?”

“Yeah,” Harry worries his lower lip, looking down at the letter with a dreamy starry look. “... Katie wants to go to Hogsmeade with me!”

Voldemort wants to meet Harry at Hogsmeade this weekend!

Voldemort wants to meet Harry this weekend.

All that electrify Happiness zaps out of Harry as he realizes...

He can’t go to Hogsmeade! He promised himself he wouldn’t do this again.

Now Harry screams in his pillow for a completely different reason. At complete odds with himself.

He feels like an idiot.

He can’t go, he won’t.

“Is this a good or a bad thing?” Ron asks with a sigh from outside the divider.

“I don’t know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ron lays in bed, listening to his friend rotate form squealing like a fan-girl to outright screams of devastating horror.
> 
> Wow, that must have been one hell of a letter...
> 
> Well, at least he bounced back quickly.
> 
> Apart of Ron didn’t believe that though, a part of him found this all a little too suspicious. They passed Katie Bell 3 times today and not once did Harry look her way.
> 
> Not once did Bell steal bashful glances at Harry, they didn’t at like teenagers about to go on their first date...
> 
> Where’s the puppy love?
> 
> The lust?
> 
> The passion?
> 
> He thought through all the knowledge his older brothers passed down to him, about the art of capturing a potential suitor's attention...
> 
> Nothing was adding up...


	5. Chapter 5

_Voldemort remembers the first time he really saw Harry Potter, not as an infant, or A parasite on the back of Quirrell's head._

_He remembers the immense amount of joy, the feeling of victory as he rises from the cauldron. He remembers thinking..._

_Today is the day._

_Today Potter dies._

_He remembers turning to his prophesied enemy, a nasty rebuke on the tip of his tongue._

_The comment lodged in his throat for a moment as he examines Potter._

_Pretty._

_That was how he'd describe the boy._

_Watery doe-like green eyes framed by long_ ebony lashes, unruly inky black hair, and creamy skin.

_Potter was in the smaller side for his age, thin wrist bounded to his Father's tombstone, with a sender built shaking from fear and adrenaline._

_There was something about the boy that reminded Voldemort of a muggle fairytale the matron used to read to all the children after supper._

_Snow White._

*

"Okay, but statistical speaking girls like a man in a suit," Ron says while looking through Harry's wardrobe. "So if you want to impress I recommend dusting off that old dress robe of your's"

Hermione rolls her eyes, a found exasperated look on her face. "Harry shouldn't have to change who he is to impress some girl. Besides, I've never heard anything more rubbish in my life."

"Not changing, simply presenting a better version of yourself. There's nothing wrong with a little self-care." Ron states like he practiced self-care routinely. (He doesn’t.) the redhead starts piling outfits into two separate piles, much to Harry's dismay. "Bill and Charlie always said that girls appreciate the extra effort, but it was Percy that actually ran an independent study on it."

Harry looks away from the mess Ron was creating, dreading the clean up that has to follow after. "Independent study? Percy used girls for theory and mild curiosity?" The-boy-who-lived asks with a raised eyebrow.

"I wouldn't exactly put it like that but sorta..." Ron made a funny thinking face before brushing the conversation anyway entirely. "Anyhow, according to his study, it only takes the brain 1/10th of a second to make a snap judgment of someone. Bloody scary right, people already make up their mind about you in less than a second. Not a lot of time to work with, so we have to make every millisecond count. Percy found that 60.2% of the women loved seeing their date show up in a button-up collared shirt or some form of dress robe, while just 14.8% of women wouldn't mind seeing their date in a t-shirt."

Harry blinks, wondering what Voldemort’s first impression of him was.

A nuisance probably.

Did it even matter what he wears? The man already saw him in Dudley’s overly large hand me downs, there’s nothing more unattractive than that...

There really isn’t, Dudley’s close hang off of him in the most unflattering way.

And yet, Voldemort had the tendency to look at him like Harry is the most attractive person in the room.

Like Harry is a person to be desired and wanted.

Like he...

Like he’s magic.

Hermione looked begrudgingly impressed as she huffs childishly. "That still doesn't mean anything, all girls are different. Our taste, likes, personalities diverge form each other. Just because the majority of girls likes suits doesn't mean all girls do— Katie might fall into the 14% category."

“Katie might, but I’m sure she’d appreciate the effort anyway—” Ron scrunches his noise like he smelled something rotten. “What possessed you to buy this abomination?”

Harry snaps back to reality, hotly blushing at the thoughts his mind was rapidly wandering too. “It was cheap.” The robe wasn’t his favorite, but it was affordable and comfortable. Harry’s two favorite things.

“Plus, Sirius pick it out.”

“How do I put this delicately... Sirius does not love you.” Ron said while throwing the robe in the (unworthy pile.)

“Thanks, Ron.”

Harry leans back against his headboard, watching Ron and Hermione bickering about his choice of clothing like an old married couple.

Guilt starts pooling in his stomach, it eats him from the inside out.

Harry is a liar.

A con-artist.

Here are is two closes friends in the world, friends that stuck closer to him than a brother.

Trying to help him impress his _date_ and he’s lying to them.

Harry can’t even tell them who he’s really going to meet.

It would devastate them.

Ruin their friendship.

The thought of them Ron and Hermione hating him made Harry’s stomach lurch painfully.

This is it.

Harry repeats too himself over and over again, like a chant.

This is it.

This is the last time he’s going to meet Voldemort.

Harry just needs this, this last go around.

He needs the familiarity, the begrudging comfort Voldemort supplies. Harry’s school year has been hell so far, with no sign of improving.

Harry has been browbeaten, made a complete spectacle out of, and possibly harassed.

And throughout all of this he wanted to see Voldemort, Harry wanted to run into his arms in slow motion, he wants the man to kiss him like his life depended on it, like Harry was his only supply of oxygen.

“Alright,” Ron announces, mind made up. “This is what your going to do. Go down to the Robe Depot, make sure to tell Madam Éclair that the Weasley bothers sent you. Tell her that you need the...” Ron looks at the piles in a look crossed between distaste and disbelief. “The disaster package.”

“This is ridiculous,” Hermione says, rolling her eyes for the fourth time in the past hour. ”I wish you put haft as much effort into your school as you do with this.”

Harry loves his friends, Harry loves them more then he loves himself. He loves Sirius, Remus, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.

He even loves Dumbledore.

Harry will never choose himself and his wants over them. He couldn’t. He won’t.

So this will be the last time.


	6. Chapter 6

Harry swallows thickly as he moved closer too the meeting point. The October breeze is chilly and biting but the-boy-who-lived felt uncomfortably hot under the layers of clothes.

It's safe to assume, Harry didn't end up following Ron's advice. He could already picture the unearthly attractive grin that would slowly grow on Voldemort's lips.

"Are you trying to impress me?"

He'd ask so innocently, so sweetly that if Harry didn't know any better he would think the question was genuine.

Just imagining the ordeal made his heart flutter painful.

Harry doesn't get why he's so nervous, why his stomach felt so queasy yet bubbles in excitement.

Harry doesn't understand why his mind goes on a trip whenever he looks at the man.

Or why whenever he's alone Harry finds himself wishing he's with Voldemort instead.

Voldemort makes him feel things he's never felt before.

Things that are so... alien.

He can't ever picture himself feeling this way about another person.

Harry tries to soothe his nerves by listening to the sounds of leafs crushing beneath his feet, taking in the strong scent of apple spice and pumpkin juice that seems to be embedded into the air.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

Maybe he should turn around, go back before he does something regretful.

Harry looks around, trying to find the man. He was on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, where the locals tend to spend most of their time.

There were a lot fewer people here, yet Harry still couldn't spot Voldemort.

Maybe the man stood him up?

The thought made Harry unbearably sad, a lot sadder then he's comfortable with or likes to admit.

He should go back.

This is stupid, meeting with Voldemort right under Dumbledore's nose. What were they thinking?

Maybe that's why Voldemort stood him up.

Harry was about to go back, already thinking about diving into his covers, forcing himself to forget this ever happened.

When a pair of hands grab Harry from behind, startling him out of his wits. He lets out the most unmanly scream that has ever-existent, quickly whirling around to find Voldemort.

A hand was covering his mouth, trying to stifle his laughter.

There was something so memorizing about the way Voldemort laughs, when it's real and raw, not one of those fake laughs he gives his followers.

And for the time being Harry has the privilege to watch it.

Harry wants to memorize this moment, he wants to etch it inside his brain, remember every line and crease on Voldemort's youthful face.

It wasn't the first time he's seen the man smile.

But it's certainly the last.

"Awfully faint-hearted for a Gryffindor." His tone was light, almost playful. A stark comparison to a few months ago when all of this first started.

Harry's cheeks color brightly. "I did that on purpose, you know... to make you feel better."

"To make me feel better." He repeats, not even bothering to hide his own amusement.

"Yes... your not as intimidating as you like to believe," Harry says stubbornly, refusing to make eye contact.

Voldemort hums lightly, unbothered by the comment in the slightest. He grabs both of Harry's hands, holding them gently as he studies them intently.

"Wait— what are you doing!" Harry yelps, he wonders of Voldemort can feel his pulse. If he can tell how fast Harry's heart was racing.

The-boy-who-lived doesn't understand why his heart skips a beat when Voldemort is so close...

A sharp pain throbs through his scar, coming to life after being dormant for so long.

It doesn't usually hurt like this.

It usually doesn't hurt at all, Voldemort is pretty good at keeping his emotions to himself. But every once in a while, he slips up.

Voldemort's face was like stone, completely cold and emotionless, the only sign of displeasure was the hard look in his eyes as he intently glares at Harry's left hand.

"A little birdie told me you impaled your hand with a fork."

Harry choked on his saliva, feeling like an idiot. He didn't really think Malfoy would tell.

Why would he tell the man something so stupid?

"But I was never informed of this." The man gestured to the scar on Harry's left hand, a tight frown forming on his soft lips.

Oh...

I must not tell lies.

Something tightened and loosen in his stomach, feeling both the weight of the world lifting off his shoulders and it weighing him down all at the same time.

".... Umbridge never told you?" Harry asks carefully.

The man tilts his head curiously, making the light dance across his sharp features in a fluid motion.

"Umbridge... isn't working for you?" Harry Questions slowly, awareness crashing upon him in rushing waves.

Voldemort stayed quiet, merely raising one of his perfectly sculpted eyebrows.

"Didn't... didn't you infiltrated the ministry?"

"Not yet."

"Umbridge wasn't sent by you to make my life a living hell?"

"Harry," Voldemort laces their fingers together, drawing him closer. "If I wanted to hurt you I'd do it myself. Not send one of my lackeys."

"That's reassuring," Harry scrunches him nose after a moment of thought. "I think..."

There was a lull of silence as the man gently caresses his scar hand, he slowly brought it up to his mouth, placing a tender kiss over the wound. Like it would magically heal with just a kiss.

The action was so gently, so sweet. It caught Harry off guard.

"Wait, so the ministry harassing me isn't some grand scheme orchestrated by you?"

Voldemort studies Harry like he can't believe that the teen believed that for even a second.

"What has Dumbledore been telling you?"

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing, he hasn't heard from the man in months. They act like complete strangers in public.

"Theories." He says lamely.

"Was Umbridge the one who hurt you?" The question caught Harry by surprise. The intensity of Voldemort's eye, the seriousness in his voice. The man is almost always stiff and proper, but there was something in the way he said it that made the question feel so important.

"Yes..."

"I'll take care of it," Voldemort says briefly, leading Harry down the street hand in hand.

“What are you going to do?” Harry gapes at him, utterly bewildered.

Voldemort taking care of anything can’t be good. Harry imagines Umbridge’s body propped in the Ministry of magic, hanging limply for all to see.

Harry might not like the woman, but that’s doesn’t mean he wants her died. He doesn’t want anyone to die, especially in his name.

Voldemort squeezes Harry’s hand, it wasn’t painful or uncomfortable. In fact, it could even be considered reassuring if Harry didn’t dread the outcome of Voldemort (taking care) of anything.

“Tom you're killing me with suspense.”

Voldemort hums lightly, completely ignoring him now. “Lovely weather we’re having.”

Really.

They’re reduced to small talk now. “I have icicles hanging from my nostrils.”

“That doesn’t sound healthy dear, you should really get that checked out.”

*

Hermione huffs in frustration as she stomps away. Honestly, Ron has been so frustrating this year.

He turned 15.

Had a fling with Lavender Brown.

Now he thinks he’s some form of sex god with knowledge beyond human comprehension.

It was mildly funny at first, a bit startling, but funny. But It got old very—very quickly.

“Hermione! Come on, it was just a joke.” Ron calls out, struggling to keep up with her briskness.

“Please stop talking to me.” She just needs a moment of peace. Some alone time. Was that too much to ask?

Ron reply fell to death ear as she noticed Harry walking down the opposite end of the street.

Holding hands with someone who definitely wasn’t Katie Bell.

“Ronald,” Hermione says curtly, she slaps his arms more times then what was necessary. Gesturing to Harry and the stranger accompanying him.

“Bloody hell,” Ron mumbles. “I knew something was a little fishy. But this is wild...”

It was so unlike Harry to lie to them.

“Who is that?” Ron asks.

Hermione opens her mouth before even knowing what to say.

Who was that?

He wasn’t anyone Hermione knew. The young man looks older than them, perhaps in his late teens' early twenties.

Where would Harry even meet him?

“I think... I think that’s the person Harry was seeing this summer.”

Ron groans, running a hand down the sides of his face. “Oh Harry, you got it bad. Your not supposed to catch feelings! They’re called fuck buddies for a reason, You're supposed to toot it and boot it!”

Hermione ignores Ron’s crude comments in favor of watching the pair fade from eyesight. They didn’t look like friends with benefits, or fuck buddies, or whatever they're called nowadays.

They look like a couple.

A couple that’s actually together, not together but not really together.

“We should follow them,” Ron announces, getting ready to walk in their direction.

“We can’t do that!” Hermione grabs his robe sleeve, using all of her strength to still him. “That’s invading Harry’s privacy.”

“But..” Ron looks at her, a worried expression on his face. “I don’t want him to get hurt.”

“I know.”

*

Harry marvels at the restaurant, at the way the lights twinkles like stars against the trees, the baby angels flying along the mural, the view.

The view was stunning, overlooking Hogsmeade like the Jules Verne.

Perhaps even better.

“Now, Harry,” Voldemort says, a teasing smile curling on his lips. “I’d hate to have to confiscate these.”

The man picks up Harry’s fork with the worst fake pity look know to mankind. And he’s supposed to be some big, bad, manipulative, Slytherin, dark lord.

The-boy-who-lived almost forgot about the fork incident, he flushes as embarrassment grips him with an iron fist.

“Do you want me to eat with my hands? I’ll do it, don’t think I won’t.”

“As always, your class continues to astonish me. The royal family could never even dream to acquire your table manners.” Voldemort says dryly, twirling Harry’s fork between his fingers.

“I’m dedicated to my craft.”

Harry watches Voldemort as he picks up bacon-wrapped scallop (with Harry’s fork) before bringing the hors d’oeuvres to the teen’s lip.

It took Harry approximately 45 seconds before he understood what Voldemort was trying to do, he wordless opens his mouth in utter shock as his heart decided to become a gymnast.

The man must have taken that as an invitation, he swiftly placed the scallop in Harry’s mouth.

The-boy-who-lives chews slowly, hardly tasting the food through his utter flush perturbation.

Harry clears his throat awkwardly. “And here I thought if I accidentally stabbed my hand again, I’d be able to trick you into kissing the pain away.”

Voldemort slowly swallows his scallop, an innocent smile gracing his sharp handsome features.

Tom Riddle truly was a work of art. Everyone else pales in comparison to him.

Harry wants to run his hands through the man’s thick chocolate curls.

Itch’s to grab hem Voldemort’s collar a pull him into a smearing wet kiss.

But that would be inappropriate at the moment.

“Harry if you wanted a kiss all you had to do was ask.” The sensational tone, the way he lends forward like he’s just waiting for Harry to ask.

And the way Voldemort looks at him with _want_ , makes Harry _want_.

It makes Harry’s insides do funny things, and his mouth dry like he’s been wandering the desert for a thousand days.

It always amazes the teen how he was able to feel this way about someone without the aid of alcohol or love potions.

It was natural.

And that frightens him.

*

That evening Harry did something he never does, he turned back.

He really shouldn’t of.

But as Harry makes his way back to the castle, heart sunken into the pit of his stomach. He can’t help but want one last kiss.

The last one.

He wanted to make it count.

He wanted to be able to look back and know it was worth it all. All the pain, and heartache that was sure to follow.

So he turns around, startling Voldemort.

He rushes back to the man, throwing his arms around his neck. The dark lord didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around Harry’s waist, pulling the the-boy-who-lived closer until the only thing between them was their clothing.

He looked like he wanted to say something, a question dancing in those dark depthless eyes.

And for a moment Harry remembers what Voldemort said to him the second time they slept together.

_“Don’t make me stop when you really wanted more.”_

And he wanted more.

He still wants more.

But he can’t have more, so right now we’ll be enough.

It has to be.

“Kiss me,” Harry says, standing on his tiptoes to get closer. Voldemort lends down, meeting him halfway.

Their lips crash together in an almost painful manner, It was hungry and desperate and needy. Because he needs this more then he needed anything else.

He needed this one moment to be about them and nobody else.

Harry didn’t release he was crying until Voldemort pulled back, gently wiping away the stray tears.

Tom Riddle appeared to have a thousand questions on the tip of his tongue. He studies Harry’s watery eyes with an unreadable poker face.

Harry wonders what the man’s thinking if he feels anything close to what Harry is feeling right now.

Voldemort leans down to place one last soft kiss on Harry’s swollen red lips, the kiss was slower than the last one, savory, promising.

And if Harry was an outsider looking in he’d have thought them lovers unwilling to part.


	7. Chapter 7

_The second time Harry and Voldemort met was perhaps even odder than the first time._

_Harry was doing a lot of stress baking that day. Not knowing anything was killing him, he can't take the silence._

_The cryptic messages._

_The distance that was placed between Harry and his friends, between Harry and the magical world._

_It made him feel like he was losing his mind._

_Harry needed to do something, he felt jittery and anxious._

_So he baked._

_He baked every French pastry he knew how to, enough to fill a bakery, enough for Aunt Petunia to throw a tea party tomorrow (just so she can brag about her baking skills.)_

_She can't bake._

_But Harry didn't care if she takes all the credit, all he wanted to do was distract himself from his own mind._

_Harry was just waiting for his vanilla macrons to finish up when the doorbell rings_.

_The teen glances at the clock, the Dursley's won't be home for another hour._

_Uncle Vernon didn't mention any packages being delivered._

_Maybe Aunt Petunia order something from Amazon and forgot to mention it?_

_What Harry was not expecting, was for him to open the door and find Tom Riddle aka Lord Voldemort. Standing on the Dursley's front porch, with a smugness that would put Malfoy to shame._

*

Harry walks back to Gryffindor Tower feeling like he fell off of cloud 9.

All of today’s events came rushing back to him, consuming him. Every giddy emotion, and sweet nothings that were whispered to him. All of those gently kisses, charming smiles, replayed in front of him like a movie.

And instead of feeling that warm fuzzy feeling Harry has begun to associate with Voldemort, it was replaced by something cold and empty. Like someone poured ice water all over him.

It was a bitter ending Harry never saw coming. He would of never imagine walking away would hurt so much.

And It hurts, it hurts so much the pain is almost physically.

Like there really was a hole where his heart should be.

So, that’s how Harry walks into the Gryffindor town that evening, heavy-hearted, wanting nothing more than to sleep for the next 7 years. But was stop in his tracks when the-boy-who-lives notice Ron and Hermione waiting for him on the long leather couch.

Their posture was stiff, with strain smiles that showed off their pearly white teeth.

Something about them reminded Harry of anxious parents waiting for their child to come home.

"Harry!" They greeted simultaneously, slightly freaking Harry out.

They scooted over, creating a space for him in between them.

"Sit," Ron orders nicely while patting the seat cushion.

"Am I in trouble?" Harry asks jokingly, hoping to break the tense atmosphere.

Ron and Hermione obnoxiously laugh, like it was the funniest joke they've ever heard.

It was weird.

"So," Hermione says, abruptly cutting off her spontaneous fits of giggles. "How was your date."

Harry shifts awkwardly, wanting gush about his entire day, wanting to tell them how hard walking away was, because it was fucking hard, how whenever he was with Voldemort he feels things that could almost... maybe... be considered—"It was good."

Because what else was he supposed to tell them?

“Lolz it was great guys, btw I lied about meeting Katie Bell, I was too much of a cowered to admit I’m the dark lord’s bitch.”

Yeah, no. Harry would rather not live through that embarrassment.

Ron nods, his fingers tap nervously against the armchair "that's good... do you see yourself going on another date?"

"With Katie Bell," Hermione adds, putting emphasis on Katie's name.

"Yes, " Harry felt himself start to panic, it took all of his strength to keep his breath steady.

Right, Katie...

What is he supposed to do about Katie? Ron and Hermione would find it awfully suspicious if they don’t make some form of contact now that they're supposedly (dating)...

"She's lovely."

Ron nods, lips thin until his smile looks more like a grimace "that's great."

Hermione hums I'm agreement. "Fantastic."

"Wonderful," Harry adds, feeling like he's missing something. Like they know something he doesn't.

They sat in tense awkward silence for a minute, not quite knowing what to say.

"I'm heading to bed." Ron suddenly announces, shooting out of his seat. And if Harry didn't know any better he would have said Ron looked... angry?

The redhead pats Harry on the back "Good talk." He said before going up to the dorm rooms.

That’s it?

He looks over at Hermione, completely a loss and helpless.

He wasn’t the only one who thought this was oddright?

But she showed no signs of noticing Ron’s odd behavior, in fact, she seemed relieved like she thought things could have gone much worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short unfulfilling chapter😅~ 
> 
> (P.s) Tom’s POV is in the next chapter soo🤭


	8. Chapter 8

_Potter’s lips were bleeding, Tom notice._

_He tried to look away, he tried to focus on anything else besides the blood that drips from the teen’s tempting red lips._

_He briefly wonders if the-boy-who-lived did that on purpose. If the boy knew how magnetic he was, even when vexing._

_He tried it look away, but he couldn’t, and the more Tom stared, the more he wanted to taste._

_So he did._

_The first time Tom Riddle kisses Harry Potter was at Starbucks, Harry's lips tasted like blood, strawberries, and coconut milk._

_An odd mixture, but addictive nonetheless._

*

Tom knew what this feeling was, he as never experiences it himself until now but he’s seen it before. He’s seen other people so hopelessly in love that it appeared foolish.

The dark lord thought it was foolish, until Harry with his innocent vivid-green eyes, wild black curls, and his magic that just seemed to call to Tom like a siren.

And Tom wants to drown in Harry, in his magic, soul, being.

There wasn’t a part of Harry that Tom didn’t like, even when the teen was being annoying he was still beguiling.

The dark lord used to think love was foolish, and a part of him still does. But that’s only because everyone else didn’t have Harry Potter.

What’s the point of acting a fool when the person their holding isn’t Harry?

When the person their making love doesn’t even come close to the boy?

They must be blind fools, or perhaps they’ve deluded themselves into thinking the person they love can somehow compare to the-boy-who-lived.

Because, surely they knew Harry is out of their reach, someone untouchable to them.

A person to look upon but never touch, like a piece of art made by an artist of great renown.

It’s a known fact to Tom, a simple truth, Harry Potter was made for him.

Why else would The teen’s hand fit so perfectly in his, why else would their magic merge together so flawlessly that the dark lord couldn’t tell where his magic ends and Harry’s begin?

It was the only exclamation.

So of course everyone settles for leftovers and scraps, they could never have Harry.

Harry belongs to him.

“Lucius,” Tom starts, immediately capturing the Malfoy lord’s attention.

The Malfoy’s has always been Voldemort’s closest, most loyal followers.

It started with Abraxas, he was the smartest imbecile Tom has ever meet.

The former Malfoy lord was like an eccentric billionaire, not a blood traitor but an oddity among purebloods.

They used to make a terrible team, smart individually, but together they shared one brain cell. And Tom had it most of the time.

That’s probably why they lost the first war.

But it’s because of the Abraxas that he has always been more lenient with the Malfoy family. The dark lord has let Lucius get away with things that others couldn’t even dream of.

On more than one occasion.

“Yes, my lord,” Lucius says casually, so casual if other Death Eaters was here they’d look him with a mixture of awe and horror.

“I want you to gather all the information you can on Dolores Umbridge.”

*

“You should sit with Katie,” Ron says suddenly as the trio sat down at the Gryffindor table. “You know. Since you’re dating and all.”

Harry felt his heart stop beating, appearing like a deer in headlights. He felt like one.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

What was he supposed to do?

Ron was looking at him expectingly like he expected Harry to back down, to admit defeat.

The redheads face practically screams (I know your bullshitting us!)

Harry can’t, he can’t admit defeat, he can’t admit to _lying_.

How was he supposed to look at his two closes friends in the face a tell them he’s been lying to them?

An irrational fear overtook Harry, he pictures Ron leaving him again, Hermione turning her back on him.

And why shouldn’t they? He’s been sleeping with the enemy, a real bloodthirsty monster, not some schoolyard bully. Harry wouldn’t expect them to forgive him, he’d want them to hate him.

But the thought of Ron and Hermione hating him hurts as much as leaving Voldemort does, and he can’t handle that kind of pain again.

So instead Harry smiles the sweetest, sincere smile he can and says “Your right, I should sit with Katie.”

Hermione looks between them nervously, she then glances to Katie Bell who sat all the way at the Ravenclaw table. “Harry-“No- no Ron’s right, what type of boyfriend doesn’t even say good morning to his girlfriend?”

“Then do it,” Ron adds, his own sweet grin plastered across his face, something about the redhead said you won’t.

And well... Harry has never been one to back down from a challenge.

“I will.”

So that’s how Harry finds himself walking to the Ravenclaw table with Ron and Hermione’s stares burning the back of his neck, making his skin crawl unpleasantly.

He sits down next to the Ravenclaw girl, prompting Katie and some nearby students to give him questioning glances.

Harry has always thought Katie Bell was beautiful. Her skin is a rich sun-kissed olive color, accompanied by long wavy brown hair, and clear blue irises with a beauty mark on her right cheek below her eye.

She’s slightly taller than Harry, willowy, long arms and legs.

Well... She seems like a no-nonsense type of person, and Harry’s life is practically a running joke.

Harry carefully thinks about the words that are about to spew from his mouth.

Is there any way to put this delicately?

After thinking about it for a moment the teen decides there’s no normal way to put this.

“Katie” Harry starts, using her first name much the girl’s surprise. “Can I ask for a favor?”

Katie slowly closes her book.

_Pride and prejudice._ Harry notes briefly.

“That depends on the favor.” The girl says, looking at him with an odd mixture of curiosity and suspense.

“Can you pretend to be my girlfriend?”

Katie’s clear blue eyes blink in shock, rightly taken off guard.

“And while we’re on this topic can you pretend we went on a date yesterday? That would really help me out...”

Honestly, he assumed Katie would say no.

Any sensible person would.

Instead, her eyes sparkle and widen like the moon, thrills of excitement rolls of her in waves.

“Finally,” she whispers. “I have unleashed my final form.”

And Harry, Harry who has never actually talked to this girl a day in his life, only know her from their few shared classes, gaps at her. Because really that was the last thing he’d expected her to say.

She places her head on his shoulder, whispering lightly in his ear. “Tell me all the details later. Now laugh like I said something funny.”

And he does, Harry laughs like Katie Bell is the most lovely, charming girl he’s ever met.

From the corner of his eyes, Harry notices Ron slowly standing up, completely bewildered.

Hermione’s eyes squint like she’s looking for a lie.

And surprisingly he sees Draco Malfoy spit out his morning tea like an uncultured swine, the blond git quickly pulls out a quill and paper seemingly out of nowhere. Hurriedly writing something down that probably effected his calligraphy in a terrible way, before stalking out the room.

Then Colin Creevey snaps a quick picture of him and Katie, and Umbridge gave Harry detention for (crude public display of affection.)

So not a bad morning.

*

“This is utter bullshit!” Ron says, his face morphing into angry disbelief “He can’t actually expect us to buy this, right?”

Hermione sighs, completely lost, for once she actually doesn’t know what to say.

Words seem to evade her.

How can she remedy this?

They watch as Katie plays with Harry’s unruly hair, her head is resting comfortably on his narrow shoulder, as they talk about something neither one could hear.

“I feel like I’m watching a shitty under-budget play,” Ron mumbles while aggressively munching on some bacon. “With terrible actors that know nothing about chemistry.”

The redhead takes another chop of his meat, teeth practically rattling from impact. Not that he paid any mind to it, Ron's eyes were watching Harry like a hawk, waiting for the smallest slip-up.

“Like really, why couldn’t Harry just tell us he’s still seeing that bloke?”

“I don’t know Ron, maybe if you hadn’t tried to whoring him out Harry might have felt more inclined to tell us.”

Ron huffs incredulously. “I never tried whoring him out!”

“Really?” Hermione deadpans. “You need to start sleeping with other people.” She says while doing an awful imitation of Ron.

“Hey,” Ron held his hands up in surrender. “Let’s not play the blame game. I was just trying to help.”

Hermione pinch’s the bridge of her nose, feeling a pressure headache start to from her temples. “Ron, have you ever stopped to think that maybe your advice has been a little intrusive and insensitive? Harry obviously fancies this guy, and you telling him that this guy doesn’t return his feelings and that he should probably start sleeping with other people is not only crude and tactless but also extremely hurtful.”

Ron throws his fork on the table, completely insulated now. “And what would you have me say? This guy wanted fun, Harry was serving him threads. Sometimes sugar coating things does more damage in the long run!”

Hermione folds her hands together, taking a deep deep breath speaking. “That might be so, but that fact is you know nothing about this guy, you know nothing about Harry’s relationship with him, therefore you had no right to put your two cents into their relationship.”

“In case you forgot,” Ron says, gathering his belongings in a rush clumsy motion. “Harry asked me for advice, he came to me, and regardless of what you apparently think I said those things with good intentions. I can’t help it if the truth hurts sometimes, Hermione.”

With that Ron storms out of the Great Hall, only stopping to say “btw, my advice slaps!” Before disappearing in the thick crowd.

Hermione takes a sip of her morning brew, slightly wishing it was firewhisky instead.

She knows Ron’s intentions are pure, but if Hermione’s gut feeling is right (and it usually is) then they are meddling in a relationship that they should steer clear from.

The way that man looked at Harry.

It was like the world revolves around Harry and everyone else was just living in it


	9. Chapter 9

"Are you really okay with this?" Harry questions the girl, Katie all but dragging him up the steps to the empty astronomy tower.

"Absolutely! This is the most fun I've had in weeks."

It has been fun, Harry can admit that and Katie has certainly been enjoying herself today. She's spent the whole day doing dramatic displays of affection and over the top love confessions.

Cheesy pickup lines.

Dreamy sighs whenever Harry's name was mentioned.

The whole nine yards...

They've shared a few secretive snickers whenever someone sends them baffled looks.

And people have sent them quite a few.

Ron's brow twitched, jaw dropped, and eyes popped when Katie confessed her undying love for Harry in the middle of the charms, Interrupting professor Flitwick mid-lecture, and completely disrupting class.

Needless to say, she got detention for that.

Hermione almost knocks down a whole bookshelf when Harry quoted ("How Do I Love Thee?" by Elizabeth Barrett Browning) to Katie, loud enough for everyone in the library to hear.

And Draco... Draco's face becomes paler and paler as the day went on until he vaguely resembled a ghost.

Basically, Harry and Katie acted like that one obnoxiously lovey-dovey couple everyone hates and that's what makes fake dating Katie so fun, she didn't set any ground rules or limits.

"Besides, do you know how long I've waited for this type of opportunity."

A long time, if her actions are anything to go by.

Harry follows the girl, mimicking her movements as she sits on a random desk facing him.

"So tell me, why exactly are we fake dating?" Katie asks, excitement glistening In her eyes as she leans forward.

"Umm," Harry awkwardly shifts, not really knowing where to start or what he should even say. "I was kinda in this weird relationship with this guy over the summer..."

Katie perks up admittedly. "Ooo, what's his name?"

Harry's mind went blank, and for a moment he imagined little versions of him running around an office that's on fire. "Tom."

"Tom," Katie repeats with an appreciative nod. "Classic hot boy name."

The-boy-who-live looks down at his hands, remembering how Voldemort gently kissed his scar, how the man's lips lingered, sending pleasant tangles down Harry's whole body.

Tom Riddle is really attractive.

"Yeah... the name fits him."

"So, you want to make this guy jealous?" Katie question with starry eyes.

Harry's cheeks turned pink, his heart flutters painfully at the thought of Voldemort jealous. Jealous because Harry is giving his love and attention to someone else, someone that wasn't him.

That's stupid, Voldemort would never... that would mean Voldemort felt things for Harry, things he shouldn't, wouldn't feel. Never, not even in a million years.

"No-no nothing like that," Harry says in a pitch higher than his usual tone. "We're not... involved anymore."

The girl tilted her head like an owl, thinking over Harry's words. "Then why did you bring him up?"

"I went on a date with him yesterday, but my friends think I was with you."

She stared at him for a moment, studying Harry, trying to figure him out.

This is embarrassing.

"They... I've-you see... I had a moment of weakness." Harry says lamely.

Katie does that dreamy sigh that Harry has come to realize in their short time together can't mean anything good.

"To be young and in loveeee~."

Why is that everyone's first thought?

Why does it have to be love?

How is everyone so ready to jump to this conclusion, so positive, so sure, when he doesn't even know what he's feeling.

"It's over between us," Harry says, stressing each word to get his point across.

"Harry, Harry, Harry, just because you say it's over doesn't mean it's really over."

He knows that.

He knows that better than anyone.

If Voldemort catches him on an off day, Harry can't guarantee he'll say no.

Then Harry will end up falling down the rabbit hole again.

Stuck in a continuous cycle of sleeping with the enemy, until he tries to leave once more.

And then... then he'd have to get over him all over again.

Not that Harry has anything to get over, getting over someone implies having feelings for said person. And Harry... he can't have feelings for said person, so he doesn't.

"I can see it now," Katie starts, fully reclined on the desk, hands clinching her heart in what Harry assumes to be a theatrical display of sorrow "oh Tom, I thought we kissed goodbye, I thought we meant this time was the last!"

A hard lump formed in Harry's throat. It's ridiculous, everything about the ordeal. Katie, Voldemort, Ron and Hermione's suspicious behavior.

There's no way...

"Tom doesn't have any feelings for me," Harry says, he doesn't know why exactly but he needs her to know, to understand that whatever unrealistic love story she created in that head of hers was just that.

An unrealistic daydream.

"How do you know? Did he say that, or are you just assuming?"

"He doesn't need to tell me, I already know." Harry huffs, heart-squeezing painfully in his chest.

Harry imagines a world where they can be together, a world where there is no Lord Voldemort or Boy-who-lived.

A world where Tom didn't murder Harry's parents. Where their views and morals didn't conflict.

It's a nice world where Harry and Tom can be just Harry and Tom. A world where they can possibly, maybe explore their feelings, where they might fall in lov—

But that's not the world they live in, and Harry finds fantasies bring him no comfort.

"Even if Tom did feel something for me (which he doesn't!) and... I felt the same way, it wouldn't end well."

Katie stops her dramatic display, growing rather sober. "Why not?"

"Because some mountains are just too big to climb."

There was a lull in the conversation, and Harry thought that was it, discussion dropped.

A part of him is reeling, He revealed more to Katie then he planned on, and in a way, she knew more than Ron and Hermione. But it felt freeing, even if it wasn't the whole truth.

Even if hardly anything was reviled, at least Harry felt more organized then before.

Katie squealed slightly, just barely loud enough for the boy-who-lived to hear.

Harry spared her a glance, to find Katie sprawled out on the desk again, fanning herself with a delicately painted harisen (where did that even come from?)

"Star-cross lovers," she sighs airily. "How wonderful!"

Oh, sweet Merlin!

*

Ron doesn’t understand why Harry likes to complicate everything so much.

Why he couldn’t just tell them the truth like a normal person?

Why did Harry feel to need to hide seeing that guy so much that he gone and got himself a fake girlfriend?

It makes no sense! Absolutely zero!

“So what did you’s end up doing yesterday? I don’t think you ever told us, Harry.” The redhead asks, making sure to send his best friend the sunniest smile.

Hermione quickly kicks him under the library table, sending him warning looks that he paid no heed to.

_“Just leave it be Ron, Harry will come to us when he’s ready.”_

Harry and Katie shared a quick glance.

Ron briefly wonders who will take the wheel. Katie was obviously better at making things up on the spot, but Harry is the one who actually went on a date.

So...

“We went out to eat...” Harry says, trying to appear nonchalant.

“That’s it!” Ron exclaims. “You got back so late I was so sure you went all over town.” He was just egging them on now, but he’d be lying if Ron didn’t admit that he found their display slightly amusing.

“We got a little sidetrack,” Katie says awfully bashful compared to her bold performance in Charms.

Ron will never be able to unsee that...

“Oh, Did you?” Honestly, he was just asking questions for the heck of it now, mildly curious how they’ll answer.

Katie's cheeks turned bright red, she can blush on command. “One thing leads to another and next thing I know Harry had me spread out like a buffet.”

Ron's eyebrows connect to his hairline.

Is she insinuating...

Harry dropped his quill, eyes widened so much the redhead worried they’ll fall out of socket.

The poor thing is so shy when it comes to sex, if Ron didn’t know any better he’d think Harry is a virgin.

That’s why Ron had to say. “You fucked her on the first date?” Just load enough for the students at nearby tables to hear, not the whole library, he’s not that cruel.

“That’s was real eloquent Ron.” Hermione hissed at him, her inky hand gripping his arm. But it’s worth seeing Harry’s face turn cherry red.

The students at nearby tables subtly lean forward, rightly intrigued, and Ron can’t help but consider that a silent victory.

“Yes...” Harry finally says, he holds her hand and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “It was a really fantastic date, and Katie looked like an angel that fell from heaven.”

“Oh Harry, your sweeter than any sugarplum. My knight in shining armor, my dream come true!”

“Oh Katie, you twinkle brighter than any star in the sky. My goddess, my saving grace.”

It was funny watching them, but sometimes... sometimes they take it too far and it’s painful for even him to observe.

Ron takes a chance to glance at Hermione, feeling relieved to see a similar look of bewildered abhorrent.

*

Draco debated sending the letter.

Because really, what would the dark lord care if Potter got himself a girlfriend?

But somehow, somehow the Malfoy heir knew it would matter.

It’s strange, Potter can bring out emotions in Voldemort, emotions that don’t always lead to murder and mass panic like one would believe.

No, there was times where his lord actually smiled because of Potter. It was small but undeniably there

Draco can never forget it, how the man looked almost lovingly at the picture of Potter.

It makes no sense.

“Tell me if anything drastic changes, tell me if he’s injured, unwell, or... acquired a lover.”

Potter acquired a lover all right.

What type of person beds someone one the first date?

Obviously, whoever raised Potter never bothered to teach the boy proper courting etiquette.

*

_It took a week of debating, a week of sleepless nights, and never-ending headaches._

_A week of(is this really worth Katie Belle dying over?)_

_A fling?_

_Because the longer Draco thought about it, the more he’s sure that. Yes. Katie Belle will surely die if the dark lord knew._

_But the longer he thought of the dark lord’s subtle smile, and mysterious disappearing acts this summer._

_The longer he thought of what it all could mean._

_Draco came to his conclusion Thursday evening, and the letter was sent out first thing Friday morning._


	10. Chapter 10

It started out as a good morning.

Plans are coming along smoothly. The ministry was practically in Tom’s hands, Umbridge is inching closer to death by the second, and Dumbledore remaining clueless about the whole thing.

Umbridge’s death is inevitable.

Once she’s gone, that’s when Tom intends on moving forward. Taking down Dumbledore’s hold on Hogwarts from the inside out.

Then there’s Harry.

Perfect, sweet Harry.

Harry who he had minimum contact with for the teen’s own safety.

Tom count down the days they can be together again.

Suddenly Draco’s weekly letter comes three days earlier than scheduled.

The Malfoy heir’s familiar dark brown owl comes swooping through the balcony door.

_The balcony that Tom and Harry spent many nights stargazing, and many more morning eating breakfast together._

Dropped the letter on the nightstand beside Tom’s bed.

_The bed Tom had Harry sprawled across, back-arching, moaning his name on more than one occasion._

And for a moment Tom did nothing but absently stared to the offending envelope.

Draco Malfoy only sends more than one letter a week when something happens.

Something Tom would want to immediately be informed.

It’s only happened twice.

The first time when Harry was sick, and the second when the teen foolishly fell off a broom after Harry tried flying while standing up.

Both were stupid minor incidents, but Tom couldn’t steady himself until Harry was well again.

He worried over Harry, Harry the first person Tom ever cared for, the first person that could throw him off balance and fret like... like that.

It was embarrassing for a dark lord, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Harry with his gently smiles, delicate wrist, smooth skin, his stubbornness, his need to push and fight back, never taking anything laying down. It’s intoxicating, Harry is the vision of perfection, he was worth acting foolish for.

Anxiously the dark lord rips the envelope open, bracing himself for a panic attack that was sure to follow.

Only Harry can do this too him.

—

My lord,

Firstly, I hope this letter finds you in good health and on the wings to victory.

My father has told me how successful the ministry invasion has been coming along, I would like to give you my sincerest congratulations.

Everything here has been going according to plan, Dumbledore doesn’t suspect a thing. How foolish of him to let his guard down so soon.

However, something has happened that I know you’d like to be brought to your attention.

Potter recently made a début with Katie Belle. A Ravenclaw fifth-year.

They are publicly courting, and Potter admits to being her suitor on more than one occasion.

If you’d like, I’ll be more than happy to keep you posted. If not, this will be the last you’ll about it form me.

From your humble servant, Draco Malfoy.

—

Tom set the letter on fire, watching it turn to ash right before his very eyes.

It did nothing to restrain the beast that was roaring, it did nothing to settle the waves, or disperse the storm that’s brewing inside.

Tom wanted to hurt something.

Someone.

Very badly.

His first thought was _love potion_. That this _Katie Bell,_ this bint bewitched his Harry, blowing out his fire, making him her slave.

The idea made him see red.

His second thought was much more possible, more reasonable. Harry felt abandon, that this distance was making the teen doubt their relationship, and to distract himself from the growing heartache he...

Tom tried to calm himself down, he took steady even breaths. Counting to a hundred three different times.

This isn’t Harry’s fault, Harry is a teenager he still makes irrational decisions.

It’s Tom’s fault for not making the situation clear.

He thought of this (Katie Bell) he thought of this lowly unworthy girl getting to touch his Harry, getting to make him smile, and seeing the way his eyes lit up like light dancing across emeralds whenever he’s extraordinarily happy.

She can’t be allowed to live.

He’ll have to make it look like an accident, at least for Harry’s sake.

*

Katie was doing it again, talking to the painting near the transfiguration classroom on the fifth floor.

It wasn’t the first time Harry has caught her doing that, she talks to the woman on the painting frequently, a woman with golden hair and honey-colored eyes.

There’s always a look of wonder and fascination etch into Katie’s lovely features whenever he sees her talking to the painting.

Harry has wonder who she is if the blond woman is a distant relative of some sort.

“Katherine,” Harry calls out, catching Katie’s attention.

“Ah, Harrison, there you are,” Katie says in an overly posh accent.

She quickly says goodbye to the painting before joining Harry.

They walked around aimlessly while waiting for their electives to begin.

They do this a lot, walking together, swapping stories of their younger years.

And Harry wonders what would have happened if he had really sent that letter to Katie. If he really had asked Katie on a date.

Would it still be like this?

Would he have felt sparks on the first date?

He thought of Voldemort and how the man always made his heart do funny things. How time seemed to slow down but moved all too fast at the same time around him.

How Harry always seemed to cherish every moment with him.

Whatever he’s feeling, Harry doesn’t think he could feel this way about another person.

_**I’m not too sure I want to feel this way for someone else**_.

“Who is she,” Harry asks “the woman on the painting?”

Katie looks at him bright and happy. “Who, Geraldine? She was a poet in the 18th century.”

Yes, because that explains everything.

“What made you start talking to her?”

Katie plays with the ends of her hair, a nervous habit, a true tell-all sign that she’s embarrassed. “Well, her portrait isn’t far from the Ravenclaw common room, and you know... to get in you have to answer a riddle. But I’m terrible at riddles, completely dreadful really. So while I’m waiting for someone to open the door I usually talk to Geraldine.”

Harry tries to picture it.

A younger Katie Belle locked out of the common room, much like Neville. Waiting for someone to come in or out.

“Geraldine wrote the most romantic poems. Did you know, Robert Stevenson was her lover?”

Harry raises an eyebrow in question. “The guy who wrote treasure island?” He only vaguely knew of the man’s work, and it was only because of Hermione.

Katie nods enthusiastically. “He was her muse and she his. Oh, It was so romantic Harry. Not just their ostentatious love affair but the 18th century itself!”

She sighs longingly like Katie was picturing something she’ll never experience... “Can’t you just imagine it? The dreamy candlelight, violins softly playing in the background,” Katie twirls, holding the hem of her skirt. “The ballgowns.”

Harry personally prefers the time he lives in, the past always seemed so unpleasant...Filled with famine, disease, and whispers of war.

On top of the actual wars that is.

And that’s not getting into the oppression of people, the suffering humans caused to other humans.

But Harry gets it, it’s different knowing what happened and actually living it.

It’s easy to look at a picture and marvel at the beauty of the scenery.

The lights, the party, the ballgowns. It does how a certain magical feel to it that muggles just don’t have anymore.

“There’s a masquerade ball,” Katie starts, looking at him in a way that made Harry’s breath caught in his throat. “Every year around hallows eve, it’s at Geraldine’s estate just at the edge of Hogsmeade. I heard the event is so beautiful that it rivals the Yule ball.”

“Wow, it must be a sight to behold.” The Yule ball... even though it was disastrous, the ball itself was unforgettable. It was like walking into a fairy tale.

Unforgettable, just like...

“That’s what I heard at least, I’ve never been. The tickets are outrageous...”

An idea hit Harry so suddenly, he barely gave it any thought before asking. “I can take you.”

Katie’s jaw snaps shut, her eyes wide ever so slightly. “Harry,” she appeared speechless, utterly floored. “You don’t have to—“I know, but I want to.”

He does.

He really wants to do this for her.

No matter how unbothered she was by fake dating, Harry can’t help but feel like he brought misfortune upon her.

Like he dragged her into something terrible.

“Please let me do this for you.”

Katie smiles sweetly, so genuine, so sincere.

_Her body lays lifeless on the silk bedding, like a marionette without strings._

_She wasn’t died._

_But a part of Harry wishes that she was._

_Anything would be better than this._


	11. Chapter 11

_The first kiss was like electricity._

_With sparks that turned into a blazing fire._

_It was unexpected._

_Harry would of never guess that Voldemort._

_The dark lord himself._

_The man who murder his parents, that has tried countless attempts on his life._

_Would lose control so humanly._

_It happened all too fast, one moment they were battling, will against will._

_Harry took his eyes off the man for one second, worried his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, and the next thing he knew was Voldemort’s lips on his._

_His back push against the countertop, hands roaming his body in ways nobody else has done before._

_Pink drink was forgotten._

_It was everything Harry ever imagine his first kiss being but more, but better, and so much worse._

_Worse because it was a monster disguised as a man kissing him, touching him in ways that made his toes curl in pleasure._

*

Harry’s semi-peaceful school life came to an abrupt end on October 7th.

It happened so suddenly, too suddenly, that it left Harry feeling whiplashed.

It started with the fifth year Gryffindors and Slytherins waiting for their defense against the dark arts class to begin.

They waited.

And waited

And waited.

But professor Umbridge never came to class that day.

Perhaps, Harry should have figured something was wrong. The woman failed to make an appearance for dinner last night.

Perhaps he should of worried when Umbridge didn’t make it to breakfast the following day either.

Harry should have known something was wrong.

Should of heed Voldemort’s warning.

_I’ll take care of it_.

What was that supposed to mean?

Harry’s stomach tied itself into knots as he watches the seconds tick by. Everyone, Gryffindors and Slytherins alike grew more and more restless.

“Do you think something happened?” Someone whispers in the background.

“Obviously, why else would that demented woman not be here.”

“Maybe there was an accident!

“Do you think the ministry finally laid her off?”

Theories were traded back and forth, from one extreme to the next.

Not once was Voldemort’s name mention.

It was like everyone was living in an ignorant bubble, refusing to knowledge the elephant in the room.

Why were people pretending this had nothing to do with the man?

Why does everyone keep insisted Voldemort is dead, gone, defeat by an infant?

That makes absolutely zero sense to Harry.

It makes even less sense that no one seems to think that this has anything to do with the man.

*

“Harry...”

“No, I don’t want to hear about it again Hermione.” The boy-who-lives huffs, walking god knows where with his friends not too far behind.

“Personally, I’m glad umbitch is gone,” Ron adds, following behind the pair at a casual pace.

Harry wishes he could feel as ease as Ron, wishes that this guilt wouldn’t rope around him like a snake, leaving him choking, and defenseless.

This is his fault.

“Ron! That’s insensitive, Umbridge could have died.” Hermione chided disapprovingly.

“I’m sorry, but you can’t expect me to feel sympathetic towards a woman who tortures children,” Ron says sending a pointed look Hermione’s way. “I highly doubt she’s died anyway. You-know-who probably found a better use for her somewhere else.”

“I don’t think Umbridge is working for Voldemort.” Harry knows she isn’t, but how was he supposed to explain that?

“What makes you say that?”

Harry shrugs, and from a distance, the teen can see a group of auror’s make their way up a flight of stairs.

“A gut feeling.”

A gut feeling that was getting stronger, like a heavy rock was laying on his stomach.

Dread.

He was dreading what was coming next.

*

October 10th is a day that will be engraved in Harry’s mind for the rest of his life.

He thought Umbridge going missing was bad.

But Albus Dumbledore getting arrested is worse, so much worse.

Harry reads the daily prophet in disbelief, hands tremble, and quite frankly Harry doesn’t think he could walk even if he wanted too.

Albus Dumbledore was sent to Azkaban.

Wizard prison...

For killing Dolores Umbridge!

There were so many things wrong. A part of Harry wonders how anyone could believe this, how the ministry could get people so blind, so stupid they’d believe anything that was written on the daily prophet.

_I’ll take care of it._

Is this also Voldemort’s doing? Or does the ministry have some form of hidden agenda?

Does Voldemort have control over the ministry?

The thought in itself was frightening.

What would happen if Voldemort won? What would happen to all the Muggleborns (Hermione), Muggles, blood traitors, them?

Where does their abnormal relationship belong in war?

Nowhere, there’s no winning.

He’ll lose either way.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Ron asked, hardly touching his eggs.

Hermione nods, face dreadful pale compared to her usual complexion. “It has to be him.”

It has to be him, who else would want to throw Dumbledore in Azkaban?

Who else would want to torture the man? Who else would want to see him become an empty husk, left at the mercy of dementors?

Harry shreds the prophet, rips it into a million tiny little pieces.

It’s all propaganda bullshit anyway.

*

And if all of that wasn’t bad enough, even though the position of headmaster should rightfully go to McGonagall, somehow, against all odds, Snape becomes the new headmaster.

How did that happen?

How does— why?

Harry feels stupefied, nothing makes sense anymore, like he was in some form of an alternate reality.

Seeing professor Snape, watching the dungeon bat as he sits on the headmaster chair fills Harry with a sense of wrongness.

He doesn’t belong there.

Snape shouldn’t be the one sitting there.

Whoever decided that Snape was fit to mold and educate young impressional minds needs to go see a mind healer.

Or get their eyes checked.

Something checked! Because clearly, they had some form of psychological problem.

The dreary git was nightmare-inducing on a good day.

He was mental!

Harry’s opinion of the man didn’t waver in the slightest, In fact, it made the boy-who-lived question Snape’s true alliance when the bat introduced the new defense teacher.

*

Hermione gasps loudly, This was unexpected, unlikely. She desperately turns to Ron.

Wondering if he saw what she was seeing.

Maybe she was just being delusional.

Maybe she’s seeing wrong.

maybe she mistook someplace.

But she wasn’t, Ron’s perplexed expression was similar to Hermione’s own.

“Isn’t that?” The redhead asks under his breath. Hermione nods, already knowing what he was going to ask.

Because, yes if she isn’t mistaken then that’s the guy Harry has been seeing but not really seeing.

That’s the guy Harry went on a secret date with.

The guy Harry is trying so desperately hard to hide.

A tall young man who must be in his early twenties, dark brown hair styled to perfection, aristocratic features... it has to be him!

“Hermione,” Harry says, his posture was stiff, and eyes glassy. For a moment the girl was afraid he was going to break, that Harry was going to start crying in the middle of the great hall. “Your right.”

“I’m... what?”

Harry looks over at her, trembling with emotions, breathing heavily, Hermione has never wanted to know legitimacy as much as she does now. “About the tutoring, we need to teach people how to defend themselves. If something happens... I don’t know—I don’t think I could live with myself.”

*

_Harry knows what his friends would say if they knew, knows what Sirius, Remus, and everyone else would think._

_He could practically picture how betrayed his parents would feel, the looks of horror written across their face as their baby sleeps with the man that killed them._

_He’s a terrible son._

_They’d probably make him see a mind healer..._

_But at this moment, wrap in the man’s arms he couldn’t bring himself to care._

_Voldemort was his heaven and hell._

_He made Harry’s heart jump, he made Harry feel light and free like he’s riding a broom for the first time._

_It’s scary but exhilarating._

_He makes Harry feel all these amazing, wonderful things. But he also makes Harry hate himself._

_Hate himself because no matter what good Harry see’s in him, it doesn’t change what he’s done, it doesn’t change fate, and it certainly doesn’t change how everyone else sees him._


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long to update🤍🥺 and thank for being so patient🤍🤍

Ginny looked sick. Her face appeared to get paler as the days go by, her once bright coppery red hair dulls. Losing the fire that made the threads of her hair glow in the morning light.

“Harry,” Ginny whispers, an urgent hush tone in her voice. She looks restless, sleep seemingly evading her. Up close Harry can see dark circles forming under her watery blue eyes. She shifts on her feet, feverishly glancing around the corridor. “Does... does the new professor look familiar to you.”

Harry swallows thickly, and unpleasant feeling growing in his chest, a weight sitting heavily on his shoulders. “Familiar how?”

Ginny looks at him with wide frantic eyes, her lips trembling. “You know... he looks awfully like— like _him_.”

Harry wants to spew, bile crawls up his throat, the taste of acid lingering on his tongue. “Him?” Harry forced out a laugh, it was awkward and hysterical sounding. Fake. Even to his own ears. “I haven’t the slightest idea who you're talking about Gin.”

Her expression basically screamed please don’t make me say his name. Harry always wondered how much she remembered. Ginny always seemed so unbothered by the whole fiasco, so unlike him, that he thought— but maybe, maybe Ginny knew more than she lets on. Maybe she was more affected by Tom than he realized. How much does she remember?

“He looks like that boy from the diary.” She said, her voice wavering ever so slightly.

Horror. That was the only word to describe how he’s feeling.

*

_“This is Thomas Paradox, your new defense against the dark arts professor. I expect all of you to treat him with respect, and be mindful of your tongue around him.”_

*

Harry carefully walks along the wall, being mindful of his steps, and the sound of his breathing. Hogwarts is hauntingly beautiful at night. Moonlight bleeds through the stained glass windows, covering the corridor in its deep blues and verdant greens. He can hear portraits lightly snoring and magic peaceful humming in the air.

It’s tranquil, quiet, the castle rests undisturbed. Paying no mind the literal homicidal maniac sleeping within its walls.

Harry glances down at the Marauder’s map. He can see Ron and Hermione snugged into bed like so many of his other classes, he takes notes of the prefects making their rounds and passes by a supply closet with Anthony Goldstein and Loreley Mountbatten hiding within its depths. Doing Merlin knows what.

Harry paid them no mind, his eyes focusing on one name, on one single person.

He swiftly makes his way down the flight of stairs that leads into the dungeon. It’s way past curfew. There’s not a single soul in sight. And if Harry is being completely honest with himself, he knows this is a terrible idea.

That didn’t stop Harry though, that didn’t stop his heart from beating wildly in his chest. Didn’t stop the thrill of excitement from traveling up his spine or the anticipation building within him. As Harry knocks on the door, leaving what’s left of his pride in the Gryffindor tower, he can’t help but think how awful plan this was.

Tom opens the door, his mild curious expression morphing into an enthralling grin. “Harry,” he says, his voice taking on a delighted tone. “What a pleasant surprise.”

Before Harry could reply the taller man leans in, his lips brushing against Harry’s. The kiss is light and sweet. Promising. Like a gateway drug, guaranteeing so much more _pain, pleasure,_ if you just give in.

And oh, how Harry wants to give in. Tom’s lips are plump and sugary— almost to the point of cloying. He was Harry’s forbidden fruit. Much like Eve, he can’t resist the urge to bite. He can’t resist the urge to give in to this sinful temptation, even if it’s to be his downfall.

_This doesn’t mean anything, lust and love are two different things._ Harry reminds himself over and over again.

But where is the line drawled? How thin is it? How does it get to the point where neither can distinguish one from the other?

He doesn’t know when his memory is muddled together. Covered in a thick hazy fog.But at one point Tom pulled Harry into his room. The decor Slytherin to its very core. Harry found himself sitting on soft leather-sofa by brilliant green flames.

What was his purpose? Why did he come here again? For a moment Harry couldn’t remember, too taken by how low lights complemented Tom’s sharp features.

“And here I thought I’d have to coax you into visiting me.” Tom teased, his knuckles lightly tracing Harry’s jawline.

Why is this so hard?

“Is this your doing?” Harry question, his voice coming out steady despite uncertainty coiling in him.

Tom nibbles his ear, his hot breath gently ticking Harry's neck. “You will have to be more specific Harry, I can’t read minds.”

Yes. Yes, you can! That was straight bullshit and they both know it too. Yet, Harry’s train of thought rolls off its track, diving into a lagoon as Tom sucks on the juncture of his neck, prompting a soft melodic gasp to escape from Harry’s red lips.

“Tom.” Harry whines. “Tom— I’m being serious.”

The dark lord pulls slightly, just far enough to allow the man to study him. “I don’t understand. Why do you want me to answer a question you clearly know the answer to?” There was no anger or heat in his tone, just genuine curiosity.

“I was hoping you’d prove me wrong.”

Tom innocently tilts his head, reminiscing an inquisitive animal. “You always knew what I was capable of. That hasn’t changed, even now.”

A hard lump formed in Harry's throat. Yes, that’s right. Harry has always known what kind of person Tom was— what Voldemort is. A pretty face doesn’t change anything. How could Harry let himself believe otherwise? Even if it was just for a moment, even if it was only in the deepest darkest part of his imagination. He should of never allow himself to— This was entirely his fault.

Voldemort slowly leans in again, like a predator stalking its prey. His lips just barely ghosting over Harry’s lips before the-boy-who-lived places his hands on the man’s chest. Firmly pushing him away.

“I can’t do this,” Harry says, his voice sounding entirely too weak and feeble. It was almost unfamiliar.

This hurts. It hurts more than last time, this hurts more than their Hogsmeade date because Harry is entirely aware of this feeling in his chest. Of the longing fighting against his common sense. He wants someone he could never truly have. He... loves someone he shouldn’t of never come to know as anything other than a monster. Because despite all of this, Harry is too familiar with the human side of Voldemort to ever truly just see a monster. He knows the man hates bitter foods, he knows that he puts five spoons of sugar in his tea, and his favorite story growing up was Peter Pan. He knows Tom too well— too intimately, Harry can see all the shades of gray that make up Tom’s being.

He should have never allowed himself to see it.

“I can’t do this I’m...” Harry swallows thickly. “I’m seeing someone else.”


End file.
